Boxing Day
by ArrowsForPens
Summary: Suzie has a few questions about what really happened on Christmas Day 2006, but Jack sees little reason to answer them. Rated for mild language and mild body horror. Spoilers: DW "The Christmas Invasion" and "Utopia."


Cardiff, 26 December 2006

The doors that rolled aside made enough noise, but Suzie announced herself when she entered the deserted Hub anyway.

"Good morning, Jack! Happy Boxing Day!"

Not receiving a reply or particularly expecting one, as she was quite early, she put a small collection of packages down on her desk and started taking off layers of warm clothing. She kept up a bit of a monologue, just because.

"I think some of the snow out there now is actually snow. It's melting, at any rate. Yesterday was sort of beyond a disaster. Any reason why you didn't let us help properly? Maybe the blokes with the funny faces and the giant spaceship coming down on our heads and half my neighbors lined up on the roof weren't alien enough for you. You would be the one to think that..."

Divested of gloves, scarf, hat, and down coat, Suzie headed further in to find the captain. He was in the surgery, concentrating on something on the operating table with his back to her. A selection of decidedly non-medical looking tools and pieces were spread out around him.

"So that was Torchwood One, yeah?" she continued as if without pause.

He jumped about a foot. More precisely, he jerked with surprise, but considering it was Jack, the effect was about the same. He spun about, still concealing whatever it was—must be small—and gave her a reproachful look.

"Whoah! Suzie. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Coming to work, mon capitain. It's Boxing Day. I thought you might like some breakfast. Since, you know, you never seem to leave this place."

He ignored the jibe and looked at the box and tray of coffees she held.

"That's great, good idea. Put it there."

He hadn't moved from his spot next to the operating table, and only gestured to the other containing various pieces of medical kit. Suzie obliged, curious about more than one thing.

"So, someone got to blow up a space ship. That would be London?"

"It sure wasn't U.N.I.T. I've been around since before they were a twinkle in some soldier's eye, and I'm still trying to figure out if they actually do anything useful."

"How come we don't get to blow up the big ships terrorizing the planet, though?"

"If you want the big guns, go find yourself a Jathaa warship to take to bits. Better yet, find a Chula one, and learn to fly it properly. I had one back in 1941, nicest little thing you ever saw."

"Mm?"

"It was blown up by one of those Schlechter Wolf bombs. Not entirely a bad day, though."

"You know, no one understands most of the things you say."

"It's just as well. We aren't like Torchwood One, and I want you to keep that in mind."

"Says the man who just described a warship as if it were a sports car."

"Hey, that was in my youth. I think I've grown a little as a person in the last hundred-odd years."

"You said 1941."

"Ex-Time Agent. Not everything happens in order."

"What have you got there, Jack?" she asked, switching topics as suddenly as she could.

"What?"

"Behind you, on the operating table."

Finally, he moved as if he hadn't been hiding It in the first place. There was really no fooling the man.

"Bit of search and recovery," he said casually.

"Oh my God, it's a hand," Suzie said, putting her coffee down so hastily that it sloshed out of the cup. "What the hell do you have a hand for?"

"It's not a human—"

"It bloody well looks like a human hand!"

"Trust me. It's alien, and as far as dropped bits of alien tech, this is pretty much the holy grail."

"It's a _hand."_

"Yes, I think we've established that much."

Suzie's mind refused to move much beyond this fact, so she had to search for something else to say.

"It's in a jar."

Jack looked equal parts exasperated and embarrassed. Interesting.

"I can't risk it decaying into dust before…"

"Before?" Suzie prompted.

"Never mind. It won't do any good if it rots."

Dead end on the purpose, then. Time to try the other side and not think about it as _the severed hand getting a bloody spa treatment_.

"You said 'I' instead of 'we.'"

He didn't say anything, just met her stare.

"Special project?" she prompted again.

"You could say that."

"What else could I say?"

"Personal business."

"Ah."

They both let the conversation lapse. Suzie couldn't quite bring herself to drink the coffee while she was still in the same room as a _hand in a jar_, so they both just stood there. She watched the bubbles, fixed in morbid fascination. The buggers in the ship sure didn't look as though they'd have hands that humanoid, but he clearly got the thing yesterday. What else was happening?

"Suzie, drop it."

"Not holding anything, sir."

He gave her a look that said, very clearly, _don't play this game with me today_.

Suzie gave him a level glare back.

"What did you always tell us Rule One was, Boss? No alien tech for personal use. Highly unethical and irresponsible and dangerous."

"This isn't the same."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't, and besides, I make the rules. They're for your safety and everyone else's, and they're there because a lot of the time we have no idea what we're dealing with."

"I hear a 'but.'"

"I know exactly what this is and it stays in the Hub."

"And?"

"And it stays in the jar in the Hub. That's all."

"Is that really all I'm getting out of you?"

"Sure is, Sue. Do I smell donuts?"

"Are you really going to eat pastries in the same room as a severed hand?"

"When you've starved to death as many times as I have, darlin', you learn to eat where you can. Anyway, it's all healed up, check it out. No blood, even. Give 'em here."

"Have them all," she said with a grimace, holding out the box.


End file.
